Hû, dog of Thingol
by BlackWing1
Summary: A Silmarillion based mopey/angst/humiliation fic, will include encounters with Thingol & Melian. Will include excessive abuse of the main char. u_u;
1. i am the dog of Thingol

~BlackWing~: Gone Feral, Chaotic-Neutral [keep hands and fingers away from cage.]

All characters [except the dog of Thingol] property Tolkien estate, all locations property of the Tolkien estate, all mispronounced or misspelled elvish words and names property of the Tolkien estate, all mythology and world history property Tolkien estate, my a$$ if their lawyers take an interest property of the Tolkien estate.

Standard disclaimer in my profile, please read it before you bug me. i'm crusty and sometimes pee on flowers, but do appreciate spelling/grammar corrections.

i will not tell you anything about the dog of Thingol that you cannot read in the storeeeeeeee... :P  
well, ok, maybe just a little: see my brief - "What Is The Dog?" 

my text editor will not allow the carat to remain above the U in `Hu`. if you know the HTML, and can share it with me, i will repair it.

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Hu, dog of Thingol 1  
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i am the dog of Thingol...  
  
i am not the Hound, the mighty hound Huan: great with honor and achievement, beloved and welcomed in all hearts and at all occasions.

i am banned from the tale fires by dark looks, from the kitchens by swift kicks, from the great hall by the unbearable splendor and my own gnawing shame. i dwell as a thinly tolerated shadow in the realm of Elu Thingol and the great spirit Melian, by their grace and forbearance; for the elves love not such things even as cast by their kindred.

i walk on two legs, as all the Eldar and even Edain, but unloved among distant kin and a king who needs me not, my miserable heart crawls on four; a dog, the dog of Thingol.

i am serving in hope of redemption for crimes I know not: damaged, alone, unknown; without home on this side of or hope beyond the sea.

Hu Thingol...

_._._._   


Temperatures in the great woods have been high, in the thickest growth near the center of Thingol's domain there is today little movement of air; since dawn there has been no soothing breeze, and tempers are rising to match the unseasonal heat. Near the stables, built to shelter the hunting mounts of the nobility, the forest had been coaxed back to create wide meadows, these grassy glades now shine brightly and radiate back the sun's warmth; horses wander free in the open spaces, nearly invisible in the dappled shade at the edge of tree cover; clover blossoms stretch towards the sun and among them weary butterflies try, and fail, to coax a breeze to rise. All is hot and slow, all is still and quiet.

'hu!'

An elf shouts as he strides through the stables of king Elu Thingol. The call rings loud through the dusty air, a voice of power and confident authority. He passes through the building quickly, glancing from side to side but not pausing to search the empty stalls. He knows that if the dog had heard, the dog would have responded; he moves out to search behind the stables in the half-walled wooden hay shed. 

'HU!'

The volume of the call increases, and a powerful kick upon the half-door thrusts it back on its hinges against the wall. White-winged moths take flight from gaps in the hay shed wall, leaving the stifling shade for the open green of the meadows. Dust, leaping from every wooden surface, sparkles as it vibrates into the air. Not far from the door one who is sleeping wakes with a start, sitting suddenly upright in a drift of straw; it is the dog of Thingol, pushing straw and hair from its face, awaiting the clarity of full consciousness. Any delay is too long for the warden, used to having ever eager young woodelves and quick-stepping hunters under his command - and the usually obedient dog. With a single swift stride he reaches the still dazed sleeper and pulls the unresisting figure roughly to its feet.

Hu does not react, but looks at the warden with a steady gaze - which halts at his chest and will not rise to meet his eyes. By straightening his arms suddenly and with force, the warden thrusts the body of the slightly smaller elf against the wall and steps in close, dominating, threatening. The dog cringes for a moment, watching the wardens chest rise and fall with his breathing, looking for some warning of what is to follow, finally daring a glance towards his face as he leans in and does not strike. Cautiously the dog relaxes; easing shoulders back and spine straight. After a moments regard, their faces scant inches apart, the dog nods slightly to the warden, yet again refusing to meet his eyes. 

Noticing this passive effort to avoid his gaze, the warden suppresses a smirk, hoping to preserve his fell dignity. Instead of a harmless display of his anger and disgust, he demonstrates his mood in force by raising an empty hand, quick as a bowshot, and striking the dog across the face; faster and harder than any mortal hand could have done.

`Dog, you will in future be found when you are called.` Hu nods cautiously, but the warden does not disengage, instead placing his hand on the wall and leaning down. `The king will ride to hunt this night, prepare your part, we will be many days on the trail.`

Hu understands the command, and nods slightly in assent; but the warden does not wait for any sign once he has finished speaking, turning quickly and departing with smooth, silent speed. He has other orders to give, and arrangements to make; the king and noble hunters will be afield for many days. By the time the dog reaches a trembling hand up to feel the heat rising in its cheek and looks up to the door with tear filled eyes, the warden has gone.

The warden's brief presence has left the tart odor of summer wine and the delicate scents of sauces for leaf and meat in the air. Hu's hands now cover the face, but the deep breaths of barely audible sobs are bringing the tantalizing smells deeper in until the hunger they challenge cannot be denied. Crossing the shed, away from the door towards the sunlit meadow, hu climbs a stack of hay bundles and slips over the half-wall, dropping down into the shade and breaking into a run - into the sheltering forest.


	2. flight and return

~BlackWing~: Gone Feral, Chaotic-Neutral [keep hands and fingers away from cage.] 

All characters [except the dog of Thingol] property Tolkien estate, all locations property of the Tolkien estate, all mispronounced or misspelled elvish words and names property of the Tolkien estate, all mythology and world history property Tolkien estate, my a$$ if their lawyers take an interest property of the Tolkien estate.

Standard disclaimer in my profile, please read it before you bug me. 

i will not tell you anything about the dog of Thingol that you cannot read in the storeeeeeeee... :P   
well, ok, maybe just a little: see my brief - "What Is The Dog?" 

my text editor will not allow the carat to remain above the U in `Hu`. if you know the HTML, and can share it with me, i will repair it. 

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Hu, dog of Thingol   
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_On a hot day in the realm of Dor Iath, the hunt warden of king Elu Thingol has found the dog sleeping in the huntsward hay shed and has ordered preparation for a hunt; the lords will ride against wolves and wild beasts to the edges of the realm. Hu has fled the encounter, sent wild by the circumstance and force._

Hu runs in distress, powered by delayed panic and suppressed anger, the effort countered by exhaustion and weakness; bursts of gliding elvish speed and agility are repeatedly subdued as the dog stops to fight for air or succumbs to wracking cramps. During bursts of energy hu leaps fallen branches and attempts to charge through tangles of bracken, heedless of any path or trail as a wild thing pursued; often pulled to a stop by insistent thorns and grasping vines, unable to win through at speed but pressing forward and staggering into the next clear space. Again and again does hu renew the struggle, pushing up from its knees and racing invisible opponents through the trees until collapsing to the forest floor, overcome by the heat of the afternoon and the futility of aimless flight.

For a long time the dog lays motionless, arms wrapped about itself, forehead pressed into the leafy debris, eyes closed: waiting for breath to come quietly, for the aches of exertion to end, for the sting of sweat in tiny scratches and cuts to fade.

`This was right,` hu thinks, `it is not well to fear him so that he knows. Never so that he knows.` Hu rolls over to lie face up, stretching out slowly. `What-so may he think of me, if he will beat me, he does not know.` From the heights of the lofty treetops the worn grey garments and pale skin of the dog can be seen, bright against ferns, turf and soil: a doll dropped on the forest floor, facing the dark canopy of leaves far above as though seeking the bright sky through star sized gaps.

`Can not SEE,` the dog says aloud to no-one, when opening its eyes only tangles of hair can be seen. Finger combing the unruly hair away from its face, the dog discovers a few leaves and twigs collected there in compliment to the straw.

There is no breeze to stir against the skin or to waft sound across the vast forest, but from a near distance can be heard a gathering of fair folk, their voices and music defying the stifling air. 

Sitting up slowly, the dog turns slightly towards the sounds of life and listens with a soft, unreadable expression; deftly completing a quick grooming by dividing the main part of its long hair into two bundles, twisting each length and then binding them together very near the ends. The dog's long hair is multi-toned ash in colour, nearly the same uneven grey of its doeskin hunters leggings; unbound and untangled the full length reaches the middle of a wide corslet of dark leather around the dog's waist; as it is now bound, loose and low, it will not ride over the shoulders or impede movement of the arms, and by the gentle twists loose ends are kept back from eyes: such a style is a practical necessity when running in service of the hunting party. 

Hu rises, brushing debris from the two layers of worn, weathered tunics it wears; freeing leaves from between the long, frayed, double sleeves and brushing down the knee length skirting of the long under tunic. Gingerly testing the cheek that had been struck, the dog decides that a faint bruise can be felt; the flesh is hot and swollen now, though it may quickly heal and fade. 

'Food, aye, i must find now, then strong smelling herbs as the hunt wants. Bark for pain, also, mint grasses. Of food, anything,` the dog prepares a list in mind of what must be found before the evening, speaking quietly aloud while walking towards the gathering of elves by a roundabout course. From time to time hu bends to pick a sprig of herbs or a few leaves, some are chewed immediately and some are pushed into patch pockets in the loose fitting garb; in one place a plant is pulled fully from the earth. Smiling a little as the plants thick roots are revealed, hu cleans them by brushing away the earth and stowing all save one in a slash pocket of the outer tunic. One root is eaten immediately, although the dog must chew gingerly; the crisp pale flesh is gone quickly, and the search for other food and herbs continues. Much is collected from the forest floor, pockets are heavy with roots, berries and herbs, and hu's belly no longer complains of emptiness. 

Although attracted to the fair hosts of Dor Iath, the dog uses all possible skill and caution to avoid being seen. Now these people are resting from labor, enjoying the heat of the day as a beautiful promise of the coming summer, playing and dancing by a bright pool. Ladies and maidens are finishing a wash of bright cloths, pulling them from the clear shallow water, twisting and spreading them like banners from lines of silver between young trees. Swimmers are enjoying the last of the afternoon sun as it colours the pool; some are resting upon the shore drying and plaiting their hair. A small group sits apart on woven mats and blankets making music that carries through the air, notes from elvish harps and pipes clear and bright. The dog watches for a little while from a distance, noting the gentle interactions of kith and kin: hands touching one another, bright faces regarding one another with joy; with difficulty thoughts are returned to seeking the best course back to the stables of the hunt. 

East of the pond is the village that belongs to these revelers, built along a narrow wending creek; bright houses, light and tall, blending into the colours of forest. More folk there are making an end to the hot day with wine and music beside the creek; the clear water flows down from shallow hills, slows in this meadow pool, then continues South-West to join the Esgalduin not far from the Thousand Caves of Thingol, and the direction that the dog wishes to go is the same. Taking care to circle the pool to the West, and rejoining the creek once the sounds of song and play are far behind, hu follows the stream up towards the sunset over the mountains. On weary legs the dog walks deeper into the wood and gradually looses sight of the sunset shining on the water, although the sounds of laughter and music follow far under the trees. 

Before the light is fully gone from the sky, the return journey to the stables is complete. Collecting a small, mostly empty pack and a thick, tattered short cloak from a hook in the tack room, hu moves the roots and herbs from pockets to pack. Wrapping a thin belt twice around below the wide black waist cincher, hu hangs a plain sheath with a small knife at the hip and winds a dull scrap of kerchief snug about the throat. 

Now the horses are being marshaled by grooms, other servants are busy with glittering lamps and tall oil torchiers in the fields, and eager hounds are gathered in a jostling pack. The dog walks quietly about the edges of the groups as they form; watching as pages unfurl the banners of each minor house and put to pause by the sight of one, the hart rampant of gold, collared by a blue wreath. The collar... hu reaches up, the motion nearly a twitch, and places a hand over the cloth about its throat, remembering its first days in Dor Iath, many years before. 

_._._._ 


End file.
